normal people don't sit at home and look at porn
by ratherembarrassing
Summary: on the internet /  though sometimes they do / five websites santana visits while coming to terms with being gay. brittana, but mentions of other people with santana.
1. Chapter 1

limaohio[dot]craigslist[dot]org/search/w4w

She lies.

With enough makeup and that one leather jacket that came from her mother's closet, she can pass for old enough. She's never had trouble getting into bars with Brittany in the past, and she's not getting any younger.  
>So, "5'8, blonde hair, blue eyes. Not looking for a relationship" sounds just about right, and she lies. Sure, she can meet her at the bar behind the hospital where both her parents works. Absolutely, she's clear that this is just about set. No problem, she can be gone before morning.<p>

And she can be 21 years old.

What she doesn't count on is the very tall woman lounging by the entrance. Lurchess doesn't even turn her head to look at Santana, just blandly drawls, "and where do you think you're going?" as she goes to enter.

"Oh, sorry," she breathes, fumbling with her purse and pretending like it hadn't even occurred to her that she would need to show some ID. She flutters her eyelashes and smiles with both cheeks, and at this point she's usually got her fake ID in her hand but is being waved in without even handing it over, a promise to come back and say 'hi' and a bit of direct eye contact having done the job, but.

"Go home, baby girl."

What? The woman still hasn't moved, and Santana isn't even sure she's looked at her.  
>"Hold on, I've got ID." The fake is good, she trusts Puck that much and he's never let her down in the past. She steps forward and holds it out to the woman.<p>

"You could hand me a birth certificate and I still wouldn't let you in, sweet cheeks."

Oh, that is is. She is going to get laid, and this woman is not going to get in her way.

"Ex_cuse_me," the fake attitude is replaced by the real, far less polite tone that would get her slapped by her mother.

"You're excused, honey, but you aren't going in." The woman finally turns to look at her, giving her a once over that feels so pitying she feels like she's sinking into the ground. Something must show on Santana's face at this, because the woman sighs. "Go home. Whatever it is you think you're going to find in there, it'll still be here in a couple years time, okay? You can wait until then."

She can feel her face tightening, the mask slipping back into place, and she turns before the woman decides to impart any more unsolicited advice. She's standing at the curb, waiting for the swirling inside her head to fall into a calm that matches her outside, when she realizes what she's done.

It's after midnight, on a school night no less, and she's fairly certain there are no more buses. She's only fairly certain because normally she wouldn't be caught dead on public transport, but also because whenever she's needed to sneak out in the past, it's always been to go somewhere within walking distance - Brittany's house usually, and that was only a block away, but sometimes Puck's over by the school, or the park roughly halfway in between. She hadn't wanted to risk taking her car.

So after midnight, in downtown Lima, with no buses. Fantastic. She can feel the swirling increase, and it only gets worse when she realizes there is literally one person on the entire planet she can call right now.

She's about to sit down on the curb, because it seems fitting, when she spots a diner with its lights on down and across the street. She cuts across the road at a low angle, not having much fear of being run over in a side street in the middle of the night. There are people inside, which gives her pause - who the hell is out at this time of night besides desperate baby gays and the online predators that attract them? - when she remembers that there's a hospital right there that is full of people looking for a place to escape even for a moment at 1am, and that gives her even further pause.

These people could work at the hospital. These people could know her father. They could know her _mother_.

It takes her two breaths before she realizes there is no way her mother, father, or anyone that would know either of them well enough to know her would be sitting in a diner attached to a gutted former garage at 1am. Or 1pm, for that matter.

She slides into a booth, and before she gets a chance to open her phone a waitress appears at her side. She orders a coffee because it seems like the thing to do, despite not actually liking coffee all that much.

The coffee is half gone and half cold before she hits number one on her phone, and when a sleepy voice answers she nearly hangs up before sighing and dropping her chin to her chest.  
>"Can you come get me?"<p>

"Where are you, San?" Brittany doesn't ask what she's doing in town in the middle of a school night, just climbs out of bed and says she'll be right there. Santana is about to remind her to put a jacket on, but the line has gone dead.

Fifteen minutes later, jacket on but feet bare, Brittany is poking her head in the door, looking around like she's not sure she has the right place. Before she can come in, Santana is out of her seat and pushing them back into the street.

She's about to climb in when Brittany catches her eye over the roof of the car, and she can see the same pitying look the bouncer had given her earlier. She climbs in to escape that gaze, buckling her seat belt and fixing her stare out the window. The bouncer is still outside the bar, chatting to a blonde woman in a tailored blue coat.

They're pulling into the street they share ten minutes later, Brittany having been silent the entire trip. She can feel the words pressed against Brittany's teeth, trying to form, but in the end the girl just sighs. Santana can feel the urge to demand, Brittany never mention this again, ever, to anyone, including Santana herself preferably, but she shoves it down. Their entire life is one big pinky promise. Asking is unnecessary.

At the bottom of Santana's driveway, the car idles quietly enough that she just sits for a moment, digging her key from her purse and then just gathering the effort to move. It's been a long night.

"Oh, San."

She can feel the look on Brittany's face, when she reaches over and ruffles Santana's hair, before she pulls out from underneath and slips out of the car.


	2. Chapter 2

redtube[dot]com [nsfw]

It's late, and she's curious. Not because she thinks she's bad at it, but you know, she wants to be _good_ at it.

Guys seem pretty happy as long as their dick's getting wet, but— well, she likes lots of different things, and maybe guys don't just like whatever she does because they like anything.

There's some seriously ugly people posting shit to the internet, ugh, but there are also some smoking hot people doing all kinds of hot things, and she learns a few tricks just from the handful of videos she watches, sitting on her bed in the dark, knees under her chin and earphones half off so she can hear if anyone's coming (in her ear and to the door, yes, okay, aren't we all very clever).

She doesn't realize she's actually turned on just from watching people fuck until she closes her laptop and sets it on the floor by her bed. It's no problem to slip her hand into her shorts and recall the way those people had moved together, a few circles of her clit and she's done without much fanfare.

Puck appreciates her effort when they're fucking in his basement that weekend. His mom's at work and his sister's on a Girl Scout camp.

"Where'd you learn that thing with the—" he moves his hands in a sort of jiggling motion.

"Internet," she pants, because yeah that worked for both of them.

"No way," Puck breathes, "that's hot." He rolls onto his side and trails a finger around her tits. "Wanna watch some together?"

She can't think of a reason not to.

He's got some interesting things bookmarked. It doesn't take long before she's squirming in her place propped up on his bed, and he just pushes her legs apart and fingers her until she comes, hard, the sound of a girl wailing in probably faked pleasure in the background.

Brittany sleeps over that weekend, because Brittany sleeps over every weekend, and she's definitely drunk, and Brittany is definitely tipsy. They'd been making out at the party, because they make out at every party, but as they strip out of their clothes for bed, and Brittany bends to dig through her bag, she can't really stop her brain from thinking that she knows just how to hold Brittany's hips to well and truly fuck her in a way they'd both enjoy.

She drunk, though, so the thought doesn't stay long, but the next time she's bored and horny, she's also a little bit drunk again, and that's her story and she's sticking to it.

The video has weird music, not unlike the stuff she's watched before, but it seems even cheesier than usual. She's about to shut it off when the blonde in the video settles her hips right over the brunette's and how the hell does that even work?

She doesn't realize she's rocking into her chair until the video's over and she glances around with a frown, as if someone is about to step out of the shadows and shout boo.

It's late, and she slams her laptop closed, before climbing into bed and switching off the lamp.

She can feel the dampness that has soaked through her boyshorts and is making her thighs sticky. She rolls over onto her stomach, pushing her face into her pillow, but all that does is add pressure to where she's practically throbbing, and she groans at the feel of it.

Behind her eyes, she recalls things she'd watched that first night, girls riding cocks, being taken from behind, flat on their backs being railed. She shoves her hand down her shorts, slips two fingers in almost brutally.

It quickly morphs into the things she'd watched with Puck, multiple girls with one guy, the guy disappearing partway through, the girls being perfectly fine with that. Her hips are pumping into her own hand, and she opens her eyes, staring at the bedside clock glowing in the darkness, refusing to think of anything at all but the feel of her own hand against her own flesh.

It doesn't last long, and her eyes close in frustration. She's starting to dry up, the rub of her fingers becoming painful despite how desperately she needs to come. The instant she lets her mind drift, the blonde and the brunette from earlier are there, only they aren't some random girls on the internet anymore, and she's wet again almost instantly, and the heel of her hand grinding into her clit sends her over.

It's a well established fact that when she's drunk, she cries. End of story.

Except not really, but many, many, many months later she can at least roll her eyes at herself for being so wilfully blind.

They're getting changed for bed, and not for the first time does she wonder why Brittany is still allowed to spend the night, but she's definitely not going to question it.

Brittany's digging through her things that live in the bottom drawer, and it's crazy, but she feels it all over again, that same reaction to knowing how to please and be pleased. It's not confusing now, though, and it's not an abstract thought.

"Britt," she calls quietly, not wanting to startle the other girl as she steps behind her, running her hands over Brittany's hips.

"Hey," Brittany replies, flipping her hair up as she straightens, meeting Santana's eyes in the dresser mirror.

She pulls the hair away from Brittany's neck, drags her tongue up to her ear. "I have a trick I want to show you."

She thinks Brittany will like this one.


End file.
